Guardian Angel
by Tasogare Ookami Konyo
Summary: Balmung had found the hospital; the room; his comatose friend. He's not an angel in the real world. He never expected to help someone fly--much less the partner of the very "Dot Hacker" he wants to eliminate.
1. Friday

**Guardian Angel**

_By Tasogare Ookami Konyo_

**Author's Notes**: ^_^ Yay! Enjoy the show! Inspiration from song "Drinking For Eleven" by Mad Caddies. Not a songfic. o_o; Takes place before Balmung is all happy with Kite. Uh... The pairing? ...BlackRose/Balmung. Well, not really offline, as that would be wrong and horrible, but online. ^_^ Whoo! 

Check out his ranting. Balmung should not be left alone. :3 Ages: Balmung, 23; BlackRose, 16. Only 7 years age difference! ...I deserve to die. XD;

(Glass elevator! IT'S THE FUTURE!)

^*^

A boy no older then 14 lay in a bed, limp in its feathery cradle; his eyes were translucent and wide open in a state of perpetual terror, providing seamless reflections of the speckled hospital ceiling tiles in their glassy depths. Terror--the only word that a man, clad in a gray business suit and lingering in his early twenties could possibly elicit from the recesses of his fully-educated mind. He shuffled around the coma victim, arctic eyes a requiem of emotions--apprehension, confusion, and at the core, horror. All sparked by the stony silence in the hospital room; the mundane imagery, accompanied by the Azure Sky's reflections upon his failures, did not aide his weary state.

"Dammit," the Azure Sky cursed with a breed of exhaustion, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. He paced some more, leer boring large holes in the uncolored walls, before pivoting sharply to point an accusing figure at the comatose figure. "This is your fault, Orca. All of it," he said.

Delusional. Not to be impolite, but it was like talking to a vegetable. He continued nonetheless, caught in his anguished tirade.

"Why then!? Why there!? Why did you have to invite your little friend on the one day some infected thing was running around!?" Instinctively, he was prepared to shoot his hands out and catch the boy in some kind of stranglehold--but thought better of it just as immediately and inhaled sharply.

---

_The elevator opened, slowly and menacingly, as either part of the glass door separated; a few people escaped its prison, with its whimsical music and the faint smell of shoes. One entered--a sophomore, a high school girl still in her sailor fuku. She mumbled hasty greetings and excuses as she forcefully nudged aside a few people to make room for herself._

_Her eyes, round and a startling shade of burgundy, scrutinized the elevator buttons--the floor she was to arrive at was already selected by another listless patron. With that, Akira retreated to a more obscure corner of the elevator and watched the digitized number move upwards, one at a time, glimmering somewhere near the ceiling._

_1st floor... ... ... 2nd floor... ... ..._

_A solitary ding._

_This would take longer then she thought._

---

"I hate the boy, you know," he informed Yasuhiko, clasping his hands behind his back and staring out the window. The metropolis bustled below, innocently unaware of an online hero's lamentations.

(And his slow descent into madness. Damn The World.)

The blondish man cast his eyes on Yasuhiko, who offered moral comfort but little support in his current state. "And now I find my partner is young enough to be my son..." He paused and contemplated this notion, then added as an afterthought, "Relatively speaking, of course." "Balmung" ran a hand through his matted hair again--the visage of the very angel he represented on the internet, lacking the paladin armor and the feathery appendages on his shoulders.

"It's too much," he testified at last, folding his arms and sneering at his reflection, cast faintly by the recently-polished windowpane.

"It also bothers me that--whatever power he has--was given to him. Him. A...well...'newbie'." He didn't usually utilize such offhanded terms.

But the situation called for an informality.

The World was sinking into a state of turmoil, and inevitably, oblivion. Balmung of the Azure Sky was badgered constantly by other players, who seemed to think that he--not even a system operator, much less administrator, but just a hero--had any conceptual grasp of the goings-on and the comas. The newbies (Orca's protégés, no doubt) also wondered what had happened to their mentor, the olive-skinned Blademaster who assisted them when they barely knew how to draw their weapons...well, that Balmung knew. And, even maintaining the cold and monotonous front he assumed as a safety measure on The World, he didn't have the heart to tell them.

His mind drifted to the Twin Blade, scarcely worth a second glance in his opinion--but whose part in the play he had not fully analyzed yet. "What is the bracelet?" he asked softly, hoping against hope for a response. "What is its purpose in The World?"

The elevator opened, making a humdrum _*wheesh*_ as its clean twin doors slid open to allow its passengers to exit as they pleased. A schoolgirl, fiddling with the red ribbon around her neck (it made her feel like a house pet), stepped into the seemingly infinite corridor.

Footsteps. Balmung the Blademaster would have spun around to meet the intruder halfway. The businessman remained stiff, waiting for the sound to pass. They did not pass; they _halted_, but he paid them little heed as he spoke of his troubles to the only one who would listen.

"And what does your friend...Kite...intend to do with the bracelet?

"I bet he's going to abuse its power. That's what he's going to do; am I right? I know people like him... Reckless..."

"He can't hear you, and if you knew that, you would at least close the door." The pale-haired man blinked a few times and craned his neck around to catch a view of the tanned girl who lingered in the entrance, with the audacity to confront him about his one-sided interrogations. She had just gotten out of school, from the looks of it; the customary ribbon had vanished from its place beneath the collar.

"Hm," he grunted disinterestedly, turning around to glower at her, eyes an eclectic blend of ice and sky. "What're you doing here? Making fun of visitors? Where are your parents?" He fired one question after another. (Maybe it'd scare her off.)

"What're you gonna do, tell my mom?" she said flatly. "I'm visiting my brother; you were annoying me; I'm here alone."

"I hope your brother gets better," he responded desolately before returning to the window and what entertainment it had to give. "If you don't mind, young miss, I'd like to be alone with this kid. I hope you have a nice day..._life._" One glance at the mirror-like surface of the glass sheet, encrusted with the evening dew, and "Balmung" immediately discerned that she was not going to leave any time soon.

"Who is that?" she inquired, boldly stepping into the hospital room (the courage in her actions absent in the somber tone of her query). 

He was quiet for a few seconds, mulling over the possible consequences of telling and not. His feet shifted, and his eyes fumbled about for a chair before dragging one next to the bed and lowering himself into it. "This is...a friend of mine," the Azure Sky said slowly. He looked at her, awaiting confirmation as to whether or not she wanted a name. She nodded slowly, resolute eyes urging him to continue; he gnawed on his bottom lip, lacking the will to speak to anyone _but_ Orca at the moment. "His name's Yasuhiko...he's in the 8th grade... I'm visiting..."

"Yasuhiko..." Her eyes widened fractionally in recognition. She studied _his_ features--the matted, pointed hair; the eyes. A faint smile played on her lips, lightly traced with gloss. "I think I know you," the teenager affirmed, tucking her hands in her pockets and squinting so as to further assist her assumption.

He blinked and quirked a brow. He felt the corners of his lips arc languidly, intertwining his fingers beneath his chin. "And who are you?" he countered, interest piqued by her observance. 

She strode over to him and jutted out her hand with a cocky grin. "Hayami Akira. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Balmung. I've heard a lot about you."

Moving his hand and resting his chin on one fist, his hand swallowed Akira's slender fingers and shook them weakly. "Are you a fan?" he asked somewhat smugly. His eyes illuminated, an ode to the manner in which stars "appear" in the evening, glimmering in their insignificant beauty. She retracted her hand and scoffed indignantly, folding her arms and allowing her gaze to flicker to Yasuhiko.

"As if," Akira snorted derisively. She struck a pose, jewel-like eyes sparkling in a happy-go-lucky girlish sort of way. "But you can barely go to any Root Town without some girl screaming 'BALMUNG-SAMA! IF YOU'RE HERE, I LOVE YOU~!' How the hell do you get away from them, anyway?" After the businessman hesitated to respond (amused yet frazzled), she continued almost accusingly, "I bet you go to some obscenely high-level area and hide at the Gott Statue and PK anyone who--"

He interrupted, chuckling in a low sort of way as if afraid to awaken the unconscious boy. "Alright, that's enough, Miss Hayami." Akira glared at the entity known as Balmung before stopping her rant and plopping into a chair of her own. "What's your username? I'd be interested in leveling up with you sometime." 

_And that's a privilege not offered to many,_ his eyes said, slightly arrogant in that aspect.

"I don't give that kind of information to strangers," Akira retorted, sticking her tongue out at him and crossing her legs. From the thigh down were light blue stockings, as customary of the female Japanese school uniforms; it was then "Balmung" realized that she wasn't wearing the standard-issue five-inch-long skirt (at least that seemed the length to him--or maybe he was getting old), but rather a pair of boy's shorts of a similar length.

"I'm no stranger, considering the fact you just strode up to me and told me my name," he said at last, quirking a blonde eyebrow. 

(Most girl players of The World would leap at the opportunity to meet Balmung, real life or no. This was a newer prospect.) 

"I'll e-mail you sometime, then. Anyways, I'm going to see my brother. Later, Balmung." Hayami Akira rose from her seat, patting the hospital bed and murmuring a short "get well, Orca" under her breath. She ambled lazily to the door and curled her hand around the doorknob, offering him privacy.

A thought struck him. "Wait."

She waited impassively.

"How do you know Yasuhiko?"

She tilted her head around, gifting him with a piercing stare out of the corner of her eye. "Let's meet again sometime," she said softly. "First floor, this hospital, next Saturday?" She was somber. Very unlike the girl who accused him of possessing ulterior motives only minutes before she had decided to continue on her way.

"I..." He trailed off, having no real argument to present. So he nodded. "I'd like that." And she left.

A character, that Hayami.


	2. Saturday

**Guardian Angel**

_By Tasogare Ookami Konyo_

**Author's Notes**: Yay! Another chapter! My Mimiru/Sora fic should be updated soon, someday... In the meantime, rejoice in my obsession to write romantic fanfiction about people who are more then 4 years apart. I should be _killed_. Honestly, I don't know a lot about the .hack games. Brownie points to anyone who can guess why and still _not_ hurt me for writing fanfiction. ^_^ Heh... I don't own .hack games, by the way... Sigh.

Filler chapter.

Did you know Balmung's eyes change colors? ;_; The concept art and the official art says so; in one official (2-d) pic, his eyes are a dull kind of lavender, but a conceptual piece (3-d) they're _green._

^*^

The waiting room was humming with activity and the occasional ring of the telephone followed by the practiced greetings of the secretaries. Balmung of the Azure Sky lingered in one of the plush chairs, getting rather uncomfortable. It was 5. He had visited sporadically over the course of the day, as she had not specified a time. Kids these days--don't know the meaning of "schedule"...

Good grief, he was getting old. He was only twenty-three and already he referred to teenagers as "kids".

"Sorry I'm late, Balmung." A chipper voice resounded somewhere above him, and he almost bolted out and off of his seat. He stood up and whirled around to face offender--and lo and behold, Akira Hayami, with new pale pink streaks in her hair. His eyes lingered on the colorful abnormalities, and she blinked before tugging on one. "Cute, huh? Cheap hair dye, though. Too much money to get it professionally done." She was clad in a white polo shirt, the sleeves and collar a shade of indigo; the skirt was fashioned similarly. In her hand was a tennis racket in its leather vessel, and a visor was plunked onto her head.

"You're late," he seethed, grinding his pearly whites together. 

"It's not like I gave you an exact time or anything. Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Well, come on," Akira said, catching hold of his arm and dragging him to the exit. He trailed along helplessly, though his quizzical stare did elicit a response. She held up the racket-- "See this? Tennis racket. Me. Practice."

"What the hell? I'm not your chaperone."

"Damn right you're not, 'cause I don't need one. Don't worry! It's a secluded court, and I'm practicing against one of those machine thingies, so no one's gonna bother you. And we can still talk there, so don't complain!" Despite his protests, he could not wrench his arm from her death-grip, and by doing so relinquished most of his day to...a kid.

With pink highlights.

Sigh.

Akira released her grip on his arm and plopped down on a bench, presumably to await the bus. In doing so, she occupied...the remainder of the bench (which hoisted three other people). So he was forced to stand, and he was slowly losing sight of whatever charm Akira had the other day. 

"Hey Balmung," she said suddenly, tone hushed so as not to attract attention. "What's your name? Or do you want me to scream 'BALMUNG OF THE AZURE SKY' into a crowd and watch heads turn?" Her grin was festering with warmth; the proverbial ray of sunshine, blindingly overwhelming and an assurance that, yes, all was well in the world. He almost averted his gaze from its brightness--how could someone so _annoying_ be so untainted by society?

"Not. Funny." When she offered no commentary, he deadpanned (defeated), "Sato Daisuke. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't call me Balmung in _public_." More people played The World then you knew; a person who did not even acknowledge your existence could be your best friend on the internet--or your worst enemy. 

"Right, whatever." 

The bus pulled to the stop with a screeching halt, exhuming fumes every few seconds; the doors retracted like claws, permitting passage. Akira and Daisuke clambered onto the bus, offering separate fares and plopping into identical seats. If anything, they appeared to be bored strangers. 

^*^

_*Smack*_

A fervent rhythm of sound effects and clunking, running with relentless speed that only seemed to increase as the seconds ticked by, until there was less then four seconds' pause between the grated touch of the tennis racket and the fuzzy lime-colored tennis balls that shot out of the...whatever it was (a piece of machinery, black like gunmetal and smelling faintly of nickel). Balmung, or Daisuke as he preferred out here (where strength was measured not by computerized figures, but the ability to control such factors), had long before allowed the blackness at the back of his eyelids flood his vision.

"So," he called out, too lethargic to open his eyes, "how do you know Orca? You one of his newbie followers?" A feathery weight darted about the verdant court floors in a sort of desperate dance. _She's quick._ The machine's automatic prowess would indubitably mean very little to her in the future. 

"One of my friends"--light panting, a swallow of a breath as the cool dusk mist filled her lungs--"knows him in real life." Akira sighed, swallowing the dryness that coated much of her throat. Exercise did that to her, and suddenly, she desired water. "In fact..." A pause, brief, but he caught it, and the ensuing short remark that followed amplified his suspicion-- "Never mind."

Neither Balmung nor Daisuke liked hearing that. She was hiding something.

"What?" he said, voice forcibly controlled so as not to seem menacing or penetrating as he usually did in his interrogations. Orca and Balmung really did make a good team--good cop, bad cop. Lame euphemism. And now that he had no bar to his frustration...

Damn.

"Nothing--ouch!" Her chirp was cut off by a ball--followed by about five others consecutively. They violently punched her forehead, either shoulder, forearm, and left knee, respectively. "Dammit, ow! Don't distract me!" Picking up her racket as a warrior doggedly retrieves his or her sword, she resumed batting the tennis balls away.

"Clever excuse," Daisuke muttered under his breath. Louder this time, he stated, "You brought me here so you wouldn't have to answer my questions--or at least the ones you don't feel like answering."

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," Akira replied airily, regaining her sporty grace. "I figured today would be a good day because, besides practice, I got nothing to do." 

"It's 5:30. You could've practiced in the morning...!" 

She spared him a shifty glance, something flitting across her eyes resembling hesitance and self-assurance, and finally, she beamed at him. It was crude, stating loud and clear, _I knew you were gonna do that_. He cursed his predictability--although not many knew him, she could already calculate just when he would become...irritable.

She carelessly deflected another ball with a slick motion of her wrist before indicating him, then the machine. "Turn it off."

Daisuke's distaste was expressed merely by an indignant snort as he stood and moved to the backside of the machine, hitting a switch and watching the last ball roll out of the tube. 

"Well? Aren't you going to compliment my skills?" 

"No."

"You're a dull guy, Balmung... Mr. _Sato-san_," she corrected herself, irking Daisuke a bit before she walked to the bench and plopped down on it. "Alright! Fire away! I wanna get this over with!" He stood in front of her, looming over her like the last sun-cradled silhouette of a concerned patron before one slips into unconsciousness. Only he wasn't concerned; just _anal_. Daisuke inhaled.

"Like I asked you..._so_ many times before," he said, a slightly angered emphasis on the word. "How do you know Yasuhiko is Orca?"

"One of my friends knows him in real life. Didn't I already tell you? And if you're gonna ask how I knew you were Balmung...well, you have that same 'holier-than-thou' look plastered on your face."

He snorted. It was funny; he did it more eloquently than others, but nevertheless, a grown man role-playing an angel is not meant to snort like a pig. He became increasingly wary of her. "Who's your friend?" he challenged; a voice, obtrusive and uninvited in his mind, adamantly declared that it was...

She fidgeted in her seat, and secretly, he was struck with a giddy sort of delight. This meant two things: one, she had something to hide, and two, his methods were producing marvelous results. He bit back a smile and resumed leering. She didn't answer.

Only with a steel-sharpened demand. "Would you stop staring at me?" Akira asked distractedly, casting her maroon gaze somewhere to the side after a few breathless moments of reciprocating his staring contest. 

"Well? Do you have something to hide?" the Azure Sky pressed.

"No!" she insisted, flinging her arms into the air in frustration. "I'm _sure_ you have all these lovely guesses about what a mean and horrible person I _probably_ am, but jeez, give me a break here!" 

Daisuke flinched, but his resolution was unwavering; hers was, though--a candle, once smoldering cheerily, was now bleakly swaying, buffeted by his stiff and callous demeanor. He (in personality) _bothered_ her inexplicably. And he took advantage of the situation. "You said you'd answer my questions," he said stubbornly. 

"Fine, fine. But if I do, you better fulfill my list of demands first." One of Daisuke's eyebrows elevated almost to his hairline, mistrust undisguised and crystal-clear in his narrowed eyes. "As in...don't kill me, maim me, torture me, yell at me, kill my friends, maim my friends, torture my friends, yell at my friends..." Dubiousness. Akira quickened her speech, and shot her hand out as she had done that day in the hospital upon introduction. "Come on! Shake on it, Sato!"

Wordlessly, he grasped her hand and jerked it up and down slowly; then he released his grip and beckoned her to continue with a short hand gesture. She rubbed her hand for a moment and then concentrated on ironing out the creases of her skirt with her hands.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you know me," Akira grumped. "And you know my friend, don't you?" She ran her tongue lightly on her lower lip, and his anticipation grew as she stalled. Finally, she said, "Look. Can I skip that question?"

He stared. 

"I'd like to get to know you a little better first before telling you," Akira rushed on. 

_Before you damn me to hell and back just because you know my name._

He faltered slightly, but somehow seemed to grasp the concept. "Alright," he conceded with a heavy sigh.

"Thanks. It's getting late. Same time tomorrow? No practice on Sundays."

"Right..."


	3. Sunday: Part 1

Guardian Angel 

By Tasogare Ookami Konyo 

**Author's Notes**: Update! YAY! I'm glad to see there are some people who go alternate pairing hunting. Most fics you see here are Kite/Elk (I don't _abhor_ it, I just am not a fan) or BlackRose/Kite (which I deeply love) or Balmung/OC (die, Satan spawn) and whatnot. So, uh, yeah. Update.

This chapter has…_revelations!_ Yes, the very ones you have been waiting for about two chapters… Don't give me that look! I wish I could prolong it, but the story rate called for a confrontation. And without further ado… _Guardian Angel_!

And, uh, ignore the car-type bit. Look, I can't really predict what kind of amazingly expensive and sexy cars will be around several years from now. Do it yourself, numbskulls. XD The writing here is…not quite poetic. But this is more of a dialogue chapter. 

_Automatically, Akira knew that Balmung was not the unpunctual type. He was too anal not to be.  _

_The hospital magazines were ancient. Stone age ancient. Maybe contemplating the age of magazines was not the smartest or the best means of occupying her time, but damn it to hell, Sato was late! _

_Her eyebrows drew even lower over her eyes as thunder jarred and rattled her bones. Although she would die rather than admit it, she was a somewhat timid person; her thoughts drifted to a certain first encounter with a tentative Twin Blade, and a nervous smile graced her lips as she suddenly drifted off to quiet euphoria. The past few days in The World had been chockfull of hesitant but affectionate gestures, but Akira was silently grateful that her party members had yet to confront her about it._

_"Yoo-hoo?"_

_She was suddenly swept out of dreamland by a hand idly flapping in front of her face; she glowered at the offender, grabbing poor Daisuke's fingers and wringing them until the 23-year-old felt the need to wrestle the appendages from her grasp and nurse them, slurring pained swears under his breath._

_"Now that's weak, Daisuke," Akira said blandly, hopping out of her seat on the small magazine table. Daisuke proceeded to ignore her, continuing to vehemently express how his fingers throbbed. "Eh? You talk too fast. Try Japanese." _

_Daisuke rubbed his hand gingerly and spared the teenager a withering glare. "Hayami-san," he said coldly, tucking the crumpled hand into his pants pocket. "We're going to a Ramen bar." _

_"Oh, I'm going to a restaurant with the most famous player in The World. Everyone will be so jealous. I'll make a post on the BBS." _

_Daisuke gawped at her, a peculiar mix between an indignant scowl and the egotistic foreknowledge that, yes, he was the most famous and highly appreciated player in all of The World. He shook his head, thin strands of wheat blonde draping lightly over his eyes. "Come on." Without awaiting the negative reply, he turned and exited the hospital, eyes skimming the parking lot before settling on a—_

"Oh. My. God. Daisuke, don't tell me that's…" 

_"My car?" The guy had a knack for looking like a stuck-up jerk. Humbled by the vehicle she stood before, Akira refrained from decking him in the jaw. "Yes." From the silvery 2010 Porsche sitting prim, proper, and unblemished before her, she deduced that Daisuke Daisuke was either very educated and rich or very lucky…and rich. _

_"Oh my GOD. OH MY GOD. Daisuke, may I bear your children!?" Akira shrieked, randomly disappearing and reappearing in various areas to inspect various aspects of the luxury car. Daisuke blinked. "Look at that…look at that! Traction control, anti-lock brakes! Removable hardtop! Holographic navigation…" When she turned to him, her ruby eyes were glazed over and about the size of saucers. "Good taste, Daisuke. Really, really good taste."_

_Daisuke opened the passenger seat, quirking a brow at her as she tentatively clambered inside. "You know your stuff," he commented dryly, shutting the door before plunking himself in the drivers' seat._

_"My brother was a car buff," Akira responded, suddenly despondent and not quite as gleeful. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, fixing her gaze on her reflection in the window as Daisuke promptly abandoned the hospital. "Aside from video games, my brother's passion was fancy cars." Her teeth sunk lightly onto her lower lip, but she couldn't fight the small smile that flickered onto her melancholy expression. "Though he didn't really want to fix them or anything…he just wanted to own one."_

_Daisuke was, for some obscure reason, bewildered._

_She didn't notice._

---

Akira loved Ramen bars. She loved the gentle scent of seasoned meat, the steam from the viewable kitchens that clouded the glass sheets separating stove from customer, the disruptive sound of stir-fried vegetables. And, hell with it, she loved the Ramen itself. Her and her brother's parents were away from home, and so they often lived off of prepackaged noodles. Malnourished? No, not really. The Hayami siblings were often given money to shop for themselves. Also, Kazu in a kitchen was perilous—give him a stove and a sink and he could most likely set water on fire.

"Woo hoo! Alright! Let's eat!" And, raising her right hand triumphantly, she dove into her bowl with a pair of chopsticks, darkish hair glinting in the overhead lanterns. The pale pink streaks became unabashedly apparent.

Daisuke merely watched the contents of his bowl swirl placidly.

"What? You're not eating? You're making me feel greedy here, Daisuke."

"I'm waiting until your pig-out session ends so I may receive the answers I've been denied for two days."

"Wow, it's only been two days? I feel like I've known you for—what!? Pig-out session!? I'm highly insulted."

Glare.

Resignedly, Akira swallowed a noodle dangling out of her mouth before shoving the bowl aside and folding her arms. "Alright, Daisuke. I am completely and utterly prepared for whatever questions you've got."

"You sure?"

"Sure."

"Positive?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Not gonna run again?"

"I didn't _run_…per se."

"Whatever. Let's begin."

"Lame-o."

Daisuke studied her eyes, an eclectic blend of crimson and some murky tinge of violet. She fixed her gaze on the swirling oak patterns of the table before apprehensively staring back, head still slightly inclined. She was uncomfortable. Which in fact made the interrogation easier—but the thought sounded cruel even to him. He paused before exhaling quietly; now was not the time to lose his initiative. Daisuke cleared his throat and began to fling the questions that lingered in his mind, pausing deliberately on occasion and remaining as expressionless as possible—disinterest was key. She might become more relaxed that way, and more inclined to disclose responses to his inquiries.

"What's your username?"

"Can I skip this one for later? How 'bout…"

"How do you know Kite?"

"He's my…buddy."

"How does Kite know Orca?"

"Kite's Orca's buddy. In real life."

"What's your username?"

"You're not gonna let me leave tonight without that bit, aren't you?"

"No way in hell."

"Next question."

"Are you a hacker?"

"No."

"…"

"Really! I have no hacker abilities whatsoever! Hell, I can't even speak leet!"

"…"

"…Next question…dumbass."

"I heard that."

"I said it out loud."

"…Username. Now."

"…Next question?"

"No."

"…Damn."

"…"

"…Please don't hate me."

Daisuke's eyes softened, and he splayed his palm gently on her forearm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. (He didn't fail to notice the visible flush on her cheeks as he did so. Yes indeed, the great Balmung's influence is everywhere.) "I won't hate you," he claimed firmly, ignoring the denizens of the bar who deemed them misguided lovers or brothers or cousins or, god forbid, father and daughter. She straightened and cleared her throat—several times—before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and finally, his long-awaited answer came.

"Fine, okay? FINE! BlackRose! BlackRose, the Heavy Blade!"

"…"

Flashback sequence. Heavy Blade in violet breastplate and metal skirt armor. Yellow, bladelike tattoos. Marching up to him and reprimanding him—not like he gave much of a damn, but… And there was Kite, and the monster, and then Helba mentioned he was…

Daisuke peeled his trembling fingers off of her sleeve; then, his entire arm shot to his side, and he sat stiff and rigid, though slumped faintly against the back of the seat. Unable to string together coherent thought or speech, he settled for clamping his teeth onto his lower lip and glancing around frantically, suddenly lacking all form of previous grace.

Silence. Daisuke had the nagging feeling that he wasn't the only one who was in a state of discomfiture.

"Told you," came the flippant mumble. "Excuse me. I…uh…can walk home." With that, Akira stood, backing away from the booth before throwing her upper body forward in an inelegant bow. "Later, Daisuke. Thanks for dinner." She departed, gloomily trotting out the glass double doors.

She's with the enemy. I was too foolish to see it earlier. How she knew Yasuhiko…and Kite…and the highlights.

_Too young. Immature. …Stupid? …Er…probably. _

_She's not like the other fans._

_She's worse._

After a long while, Daisuke, in his black turtleneck and tight-fitting pants, left a fistful of money on the table before jolting to his feet and striding out the front doors. Guilt tugged at his heartstrings, and his more…analytical side nagged him for it. And then there was something else, something he couldn't quite place. Hayami…BlackRose was…a character.

If avoiding his inquiries was her idea of intriguing him, she had done a damn good job.

**To be continued**


End file.
